This is War
by MoonWallker
Summary: Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other. Can the war unite them?
1. This is War

**Name: **This is war

**Author: **pjlover666

**Rating: **PG13

**Characters: **Prowl and Jazz, (briefly Optimus Prime and Ironhide)

**Summary: **Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other.

**Warnings: **unnamed deaths, mild swearing

_Inspired by_** http: / yamiyouka. deviantart. com / art/ Black-and- Whites- 188595154 –** _the idea belongs to her. The bunnie just bit me and needed to be written (remove space)._

**AN: **This story just stuck with me. I want to give a huge thank you to **gracesolo** for the incredible beta she had been – only because of her is this story grammar and mistake free! Seriously! Usually my stories are not beta'd and have tons of mistakes but just read this one and see the enormous difference! Like I said – amazing beta, not only did she fixed the mistakes but also explained some stuff that I didn't understand! We worked hard for this fic to be readable, please enjoy it! ^_^

Thank you** gracesolo**, this would not be possible without your magic-beta-skills!

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><p><em><strong>This is War<strong>_

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><p><em>A warning to the people<br>The good and the evil  
>This is war<br>To the soldier, the civilian  
>The martyr, the victim<br>This is war _

* * *

><p>The Cybertronian night was quiet. Too quiet. Not even the sound of the wind could be picked up. The stars shone brightly but the night was chilly. In a valley that held nothing but wild crystals, a fortress stood tall. By the crumbling building and the bad maintenance it looked like it was millennia old. And yet, it still held beauty – sculptures and ornaments decorated the outside walls that would cause any passer-by to simply stop and admire this great architectural artwork.<p>

It crumbled to the ground in less than two breems.

Four simultaneous explosions at its base started the domino of smaller explosions and leveled the fortress to the ground, enveloping it in a giant plume of smoke. Suddenly, a lone figure jumped out from the puff of smoke, accelerating in the too quiet night as he drove far from the fallen building.

The figure that was in alt mode transformed, displaying gorgeous wings on his sides, and glared back in the direction of the once mighty Decepticon base. The engine of the black and white transformer growled the sound carrying in the silence. The black and white Praxian adorned with a piercing red chevron, the only other color the mech possessed, stared at where the now destroyed base stood, smoke still covering it.

His coloring was mostly white with black stripes, complimenting the exotic frame, that was now more black than white, scratches and scorch marks showing prominently over the once pristine plating.

He stared and waited.

His patience was rewarded as second figure, smaller than him, emerged from the smoking base, engine revving as the new mech accelerated in the dark night, quickly reaching the Praxian. He transformed; his smaller frame was mostly black but with white stripes to compliment the sleek frame as well. His frame appeared in better shape than the white Praxian's, but that was because of the dark color – if one knew where to look, they would see that he was far more dented and scratched. A piercing blue visor broke the darkness of the night as the mech smirked arrogantly at his waiting companion.

The Praxian's optics narrowed and he quickly closed the distance between them, looming over the other, his wings flaring high, along with his temper.

"You fragging son of a glitch." He spat, "What part of 'Wait for my signal' did that pile of scrap you call a CPU not understand?"

The other mech's smirk remained, but his lips thinned as his optics narrowed behind the visor.

"Oh, was I s'possed to follow _your_ orders? Sorry, didn' catch that memo."

"_Jazz!_" He snapped.

"Yes, _Prowlie_?" Sweetness dripping from the word.

Prowl clenched his fists in a vain attempt to control himself, otherwise he might strike his so-called-_partner_. Just thinking about it made his tanks turn.

"I am the tactician of this mockery of a team. By disobeying me you put not just me or yourself at risk, but the rest as well-"

Jazz walked right past Prowl, forcefully bumping his shoulder, "Yeh, Yeh – heard that speech like a thousand times. Give yourself a break before that battle computer of yers rolls over and dies."

Prowl growled and reached out to stop Jazz from walking away. Just as he was about to grab his shoulder, Jazz turned around and captured his hand in a death grip, probably denting the metal.

"Do _not_. Touch. Me." He growled, the carefree facade vanishing. Only around Prowl did Jazz let go of his cheery persona when he wasn't on missions. Unfortunately for the tactician, that meant he had to face Jazz's darker side quite often. Prowl couldn't say he minded – that way he always had a valid reason to lash out at the smaller mech.

"Let me remind you that _I'm_ the demolitions expert. So it was _my_ call, not yours."

Prowl started him down, not intimidated at all, "Then by all means, when where you going to tell me the explosions were primed. You barely gave me a breem to escape." He snatched his hand back from Jazz's crushing grip and motioned to his body and the dents it possessed.

Jazz snorted, "Pah-leeease. It's just some cosmetics work, glitch."

"I know, but if I had wasted even a nano second I could have been buried." He inspected Jazz's body, "I see you are sporting some decent dents as well." Some of Jazz's dents were deep enough to have burst superficial energon lines, causing leakages.

"Big woop. I'm fine."

"Fine now. But if you had been chased out, your injuries would have quickly turned in to a liability."

Jazz growled and poked a finger into Prowl's chest, "So leave me the frag to _die_!" But before he could finish his sentence, Prowl pounced him.

"You barbaric _moron_. How I got partnered with you is beyond me, but after 50 vorns of service together you should have learned that I never leave a mech behind!" He pressed Jazz hard onto the ground. "And that includes your ungrateful aft as well!"

Jazz quickly shifted the tables as he bent his legs and kicked hard, sending Prowl sprawling onto his back. The Praxian growled when he fell on his wings, but before he could recover, Jazz was on him again, using his weight to pin him down.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't rip yer spark out, mech." The saboteur growled, all pretense of friendly conversation gone from his demeanor.

"Please," Prowl rolled his optics, completely unaffected while any other mech finding themselves in his position would have begged for mercy, "You wouldn't last an orn without me to save your aft, seeing as you have such suicidal tendencies."

It was true, all of it. Neither had any idea how in the world they got paired up together. They were both from special ops and were never on good terms, barely associating with each other.

Prowl was an arrogant field tactician – very organized, specializing in strategy, infiltration, offense and defense. He was cocky, thinking he was indestructible. But he was too cocky and one mission went wrong, his mistake killing his entire unit.

Jazz on the other hand was a loose cannon. His specialties were demolition, sabotage, hacking, and interrogation. He reacted purely with instinct. He barely restrained himself during battle, being quite reckless regarding his own safety, along with the safety of those around him. The unavoidable came – he had made a fatal error, provoking the wrong mechs, causing great loss to the Autobots.

By all means, both of them should have been court martialed. And yet, they were still here. _Together_. Primus, if they ever found the fool who placed them together, they were going to escort him to the afterlife, _screaming_. At least they agreed on _that_.

Jazz growled, both mechs revved up by the explosion, systems still running on overdrive as energon pumped furiously in their fuel lines.

*drip *

They both looked down at Prowl's chest where an energon stain stood out over the white plating.

*drip * *drip *

"Come. The frag. _On_!" Jazz growled and stood up from where he was holding Prowl against the ground to look at the damage on his chest. He caught Prowl's hand again before the Praxian could touch him.

Prowl glared. Jazz sneered.

"Ok, _say it_. I know that freakish processor of yers is doing a happy dance now." Jazz used his hands to wipe away some of the energon that was leaking from between two seams on his chest, "I know yer just dying to say 'I told you so', so get it over with."

"Imbecile." Prowl muttered as he opened his subspace, but stopped. He looked around. It was too open. They were both so lost in the heat of the moment that they both forgot they were in the open right in front of a crumbled now ex – Decepticon base.

"Can you transform?"

"Shut yer trap slagger."

"Good, let us find cover and repair ourselves before going back to HQ." Jazz wanted to sneer again at him for being ordered around like that, but a voice called 'reason' that was supposed to be banned from his CPU suggested otherwise. Primus help him, he listened to it as the two ops agents transformed and headed to find cover.

"Frag." Barely four joors have passed when Jazz cursed and stopped driving. It was too dangerous for them to call for back up. The radio waves were probably being probed now as the Decepticons surely knew of their now missing base.

"What is it?" Prowl stopped as well, transformed and looked irritably at the other mech, seriously considering sing-song-ing _'I told you so, you brute'_.

Jazz transformed and clutched his chest, right under his bumper. Fresh energon covered his hand. "Maaaybe it took me a little too long to escape." He growled and started doing internal scans to try and see which line was nicked, hoping that it was nothing vital. But his hopes were in vain.

"You think?" Prowl couldn't resist. If Jazz had only listened to him, this could have been avoided. He sighed and walked over, "Let me see."

"Don't wanna get yer pretty white hands all dirty."

"Oh, so you do have a thing for my claws." Prowl smirked and flexed his clawed hands just for good measure.

"Wanna find out who's are sharper?" Jazz flexed his own claws, challenging.

"Perhaps later, now show me – I am in no mood to carry you."

"Pfft, like _that'll_ ever happen."

But Jazz removed his hands, showing the dented seam. Except for the dent on it, Prowl saw nothing other than superficial damage, but energon was leaking from between the seams. He frowned – that meant a burst energon line that was pooling inside. Not good.

"Of course." Prowl growled and straightened from his leaning position to get a better look, "When it comes to you, things are never easy."

"Easy's boring, mech."

"Just shut up and open your chest."

"Sorry Prowler, I like ya but not _that_ much." Prowl snarled as he clutched the med kit.

"This is no slagging time for your foolishness, Jazz! It is the main reason we're in this position now."

"That bad, huh doc?" But Jazz wasn't affected. Prowl wasn't surprised. The mech never really cared for his well-being. The tactician had to wonder if Jazz had lost a limb would he even notice that it was gone?

"I took only one medical course under Ratchet. I am hardy considered a medic." Prowl would never admit to anyone else, but Jazz's recklessness was the main reason he took those courses. He was aware of Jazz's self-destructive tendencies during battle and knew that sooner or later he would need those skills. So far, he had not been proven wrong.

Prowl started walking towards a couple of boulders that would provide temporary cover. Jazz would never agree to expose his spark chamber in the open like they were now.

The visored mech sat down, leaning against the boulder. Prowl waited patiently until Jazz unlocked his spark chamber. The smaller Ops mech was paranoid – his chest plates locked in such a way that even the best medics could not open it manually. But that paranoia had saved him some pretty nasty interrogations in the rare times when he was being held captive.

As the chest plates opened, more energon leaked onto the ground, causing a small 'splash' sound in the quiet night.

Prowl's engine gave a dangerous rumble, "I swear, if you ever disobey me again the Decepticons will be the least of your problems, slagger."

Jazz raised an optic ridge, "You're so charming, have I ever told you that?"

"No." Prowl answered and ignored Jazz when the mech squeaked as Prowl started probing in the wound, feeling some of the lines, trying to find the break. Jazz shifted uncomfortably due to the mixed signals of pleasure and pain.

"What the frag is taking so long? It's supposed to be a big tear. You should easily find- Ah!" He gripped Prowl's hand, this time definitely denting the metal as his claws dug in the servo.

"Found it." Prowl coolly said and used some scans to estimate the damage. "Congratulations, Jazz." He mocked, "The line is crushed between the dented plating. If you want it fixed, I suggest you brace yourself."

"I am sooo getting you back for this."

"I'm merely helping you, Jazz." Voice full of pure innocence, "It is your foolishness that led us to this."

"Hah, that may be true but yer enjoying yourself too much- OH FRAG FRAG _FRAG_!" Jazz howled in pain as his dent was fixed, releasing the flow of energon that now started to drip out of his chassis.

"Fraggin' son of a glitch!" He glared at Prowl and used up all of his strength not to lash out at the other bot, "Ya could have warned me!"

"I did." Prowl answered, oblivious to the rage that was emitting in waves from the mech before him, "And chose a moment when you were distracted so it would hurt less."

"Hurt less, my aft." If he could, Jazz would have crossed his arms. When he saw what Prowl was preparing to do, he couldn't help but moan.

"Do ya have to mech? Just rip the line out – the flow will stop."

He eyed with pure detest the cauterizing tool in Prowl's hand. He hated cauterizations. With a passion.

"Just nick the slaggin' line out – if you won't, then _I'll_ do it." But Prowl gripped his hand.

"The joys of working with suicide cases." Prowl muttered. "I will not let you rip out a vessel that will heal itself in a couple of orns. So sit the frag _still_!"

"You're a dead mech walking, Prowl. When we get to base no one will find yer body, I'll make sure of it! Pit, I'll use ya as a wall decoration, that chevron of yours makes a good ornament."

Jazz willingly let Prowl hold down his hands, knowing they might cause damage if not bound, "If I didn't know better, Jazz-" Prowl pressed the heated tool over the line and ignored Jazz as he swallowed a scream, "- I would interpret this as an invitation to move in with you."

Jazz muted his vocalizer for a couple of nano seconds but quickly regained his composure, "Slag you, Prowl. Who would wanna frag with you? They'll fall in recharge during the middle of it."

"You speak as if you've been with me – which you have _not_." Prowl stood up and glared down at Jazz, "Nor will you ever be."

"Now _that's_ a relief."

Prowl resisted the urge to kick the mech but patiently waited for him to lock his chassis again. Jazz grinned a crooked smile and transformed.

"After you, my love."

Sarcasm was a powerful ally.

"Please," Prowl transformed, "don't strain yourself." And speed off, leaving dust in his trail.

::Glitch::

::Slagger::

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><p><em>To the right<br>To the left  
>We will fight to the death<br>To the edge of the earth  
>It's a brave new world<br>From the last to the first _

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><p>Prowl resisted the urge to smack his helm on something hard. If he off-lined himself, at least the pain would go away. But he barely had the energy to move. Being a Decepticon prisoner was quite tiring, really. But his current processor ache wasn't from his wounds and mind probing. No.<p>

Jazz.

Slagging glitch had literally blown up the brig wall that he was now peeking through and grinning like a mad mech.

"Honey, I'm home!"

"Primus, I'm in the Pit aren't I?" Prowl muttered, his vision slightly going in to static.

"Miss me, _partner_?" Jazz walked closer and Prowl ignored the fact that the saboteur cast aside a limb of sorts, probably from a Decepticon that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Jazz whistled, "They sure did a number on ya. _Fraggers_." But the way he said the last word was venomous.

"Jazz?"

"What is it, Prowler?" The visored mech was trying to undo the cuffs that where chaining him to the wall.

"What the slag took you so long?" Prowl glowered, but a twisted version of a smirk appeared on his energon stained face.

"Well, ya know – places to blow up, mechs to interrogate _or_ kill, sneaking in the base – hard work, mech."

Prowl snorted, groaning slightly when Jazz lifted him, arm holding his waist while the other supported the arm around his neck. "Poor you, then."

They walked another set of steps until Prowl's legs gave out.

"You know what this means, don't you?" Jazz asked in a serious voice that slightly worried Prowl.

"What?"

"That _I_ will carry _you_ – not the other way around like ya predicted!" It was... strange to say the least, seeing that look of triumph on Jazz's face in a place like this. But Prowl let himself be lifted in the smaller mech's arms.

"You do realize next time is my turn? I do hate being in debt." Prowl tiredly replied.

"Sucks it'll _never_ happen, though." Jazz said confidently and fled the room, Prowl in his arms. After Jazz was sure they were out of range, he motioned for Prowl to look at the base. Prowl stared, knowing perfectly well what was to come.

A huge, optic-searing explosion took place. The shockwave was so powerful it shook the ground beneath them.

"Overkill?"

"Nah."

Unfortunately for Jazz, Prowl returned the favor over the vorns – multiple times. The _joys_ of being Ops.

* * *

><p><em>To the right<br>To the left  
>We will fight to the death<br>To the edge of the earth  
>It's a brave new world<br>It's a brave new world  
>It's a brave new world<em>

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><p>Optimus, the newest Prime bearing that title barely for 50 vorns, quietly sipped his energon next to Ironhide as he watched Cybertron's best Ops team that ever existed, bicker in the lounge.<p>

"How they haven't killed each other, Ah have no fraggin' clue Prime." Ironhide muttered beside him.

"They are friends."

"_Friends_? Bah, they would stab each other in the back the first chance they got." The weapons specialist scoffed, not able to see any signs of friendship between the two Ops mechs.

"I wouldn't be so sure. They have survived so far. They have helped each other more times than they have exchanged fists."

"Yeaaah. So that's why we found them in an all-out _training_ match, trying to rip each other's sparks out."

"They are keeping each other sharp." Prime secretly smirked behind his mask when he saw how Prowl's wings flared sharply, clawed hands clenched and his posture screaming hostile intent at Smokescreen who was openly hitting on Jazz.

"Of course they are." Ironhide grumbled unconvinced, "Ratchet worked on them an entire orn!"

"Yes, but they didn't possess any lethal damage, did they?"

"Well, yeah but-"

"And the reason he took so much time was because it was mostly cosmetic work." He smiled at Ironhide and shifted his attention on him. "Ironhide, the _matrix_ itself made that pairing. I have yet to regret it."

The rest of the crew never really saw the real them. To others, they were simply Prowl and Jazz – a boring tactician and a happy-go-lucky mech that enjoyed partying. For the other soldiers, they were just two ordinary mechs who couldn't stand each other and bickered all the time. No one but Prime, Ironhide, and Ratchet knew the deadly combination they made. How they worked with cold efficiency that would chill a mech to his very core.

They were death incarnate.

And yet somehow, they have found a balance in each other, something no one expected, and something both Ops mechs were too proud to admit.

The others may not see it, but he _was_ Prime for a reason. He saw that glint in their optics. Probably neither Prowl nor Jazz realized the strong feelings they harbored for each other. They were very often forced to deal with the darkest aspects of this war and he wasn't surprised by their brutal personalities. As much as they tried to stay indifferent to each other, they couldn't. Not now that a strong bond of friendship had formed, even if their pride refused to allow them to see the bond. Even if they denied that it was an act, the pair enjoyed bickering, sniping at each other in mock anger. There was something in the way they held each other's gaze that told Prime he made the right choice by placing them together.

Optimus Prime was glad he had a battle mask to hide his huge grin at the outraged look Jazz possessed when a new recruit started to hit on Prowl. This was war, bonds like these shouldn't form – at least that's what the last Prime had reasoned. But Optimus didn't agree – after all, what better reason to fight, but for those who you treasured and wished to protect?

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><p><em>I believe in nothing<br>Not the end and not the start  
>I believe in nothing<br>Not the earth and not the stars  
>I believe in nothing<br>Not the day and not the dark  
>I believe in nothing<br>But the beating of our hearts  
>I believe in nothing<br>One hundred suns until we part  
>I believe in nothing<br>Not in satan, not in god  
>I believe in nothing<br>Not in peace and not in war  
>I believe in nothing<br>But the truth of who we are _


	2. Doomsday Clock

**Name of series:** This is war

**Chapter two:** Doomsday Clock

**Rating:** PG13

**Characters:** Prowl and Jazz

**Summary:** Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other.

**Warnings:** Unnamed deaths, mild swearing, violence

**AN:** Well, this thing has grown into a full set of series. Expect more chapters soon.

Beta'd by the amazing **GraceSolo**.

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><p><strong>Doomsday Clock<strong>

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><p><em>Is everyone afraid?<br>Is everyone ashamed?  
>They're running towards their holes to find out<br>Apocalyptic means are lost among our dead  
>A message to our friends to get out<br>There's wages on this fear  
>Oh so clear<br>Depends on what you'll pay to hear _

* * *

><p>The training room was off limits at the moment. Which was unusual, to say the least. It always remained open for anyone who wanted to train or simply vent their many frustrations in the safety of the base. It was the sanctuary where the soldiers expelled their extra energy and darker thoughts. But that cycle, if anyone bothered to pass by the room they would hear war cries, as if beyond the steel walls a true battle, not a simulation, was being held.<p>

And those who did pass the room would quickly make themselves scarce once they realized the door was locked with Spec. Ops codes. No one was suicidal enough to enter the training room when agents were training, sharpening their already deadly skills.

But that cycle, no one knew that the two residents in the room were _locked_ in there, against their will. True, if they really put their mind in to the task, they could easily override the lock. But right now, their thoughts were someplace else, as only emotions lingered in their frames. Dark, dark emotions. Things crossed their minds that no Autobot should ever think of, even in their worst nightmares.

Jazz snarled venomously as he tore through another training drone. Even at the hardest combat training level, the drones were taken apart like mere toys. Jazz took two daggers from subspace and with precise accuracy, beheaded two drones sneaking up from behind him. At the same time, he made a leap in to the air, landing on a pair of drones, crushing them with his weight. He used one of the fallen drones as a shield as he used his claws as his only weapon to limit the drone's forces, not caring about the fluids he was getting covered in, focused only on the destruction he was able to cause around him.

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><p><em>Please don't stop, it's lonely at the top<br>These lonely days, when will they ever stop?  
>This doomsday clock ticking in my heart<br>Not broken _

* * *

><p>For a brief nano click, just for a measly moment, he off-lined his optics, but immediately regretted it as a drone did its job, hitting him full force and sending him crashing into the nearby wall.<p>

"You truly are glitched, closing your optics like that during battle." Prowl broke the silence from where he was sitting on the ground, using the wall Jazz crashed in to as back rest, having the perfect view of the training room, while nursing a cube of one of the strongest contraband high grades.

Jazz stood up and glared at Prowl who was only meters away from him.

"AI, seize simulation." Jazz ordered and stalked over Prowl.

During the entire time of Jazz's rampage through the base's supply of training drones, the tactician had simply sat there, drowning himself in the concentrated energon. Usually he joined Jazz in training, but now... he was _not_ in the mood. They had one _Pit_ of deca cycle.

"Mech, don't tempt me..." Jazz growled as he crouched in front of Prowl, flexing his energon stained claws. He was tired of Prowl ignoring him all cycle. Perhaps he was moping? Jazz didn't care. He just wanted a reaction – anger, frustration, regret, pain – _anything_. Anything was better than the hollowness Prowl emitted.

Prowl simply took a big gulp from his drink and cocked his helm to the side. Jazz growled and smashed his fist right next to Prowl's helm, denting the wall and probably his own servo in the process.

"Makes you wonder what we are fighting for, doesn't it?" Prowl suddenly stated, not meeting Jazz's glare.

Jazz's engine dangerously rumbled as he slammed his other servo on the wall, trapping the bigger mech, but Prowl didn't seem to care.

"I know perfectly well why I fight, ya glitch." He vented deeply, trembling with emotion he was not used to dealing with.

"Do you?" Prowl locked gazes with him, disbelieve clear in his voice. Where Jazz was boiling with fury Prowl seemed unnervingly calm.

"Then why didn't you pull the trigger, Jazz? Why did the ruthless warrior you claim to be hesitate?" Prowl raised his voice as his anger made him want to shout as well, "Why didn't you Jazz?" Prowl looked away as his thoughts lingered in some dark places.

"Because they're younglings, ya sick and twisted fragger!" Jazz snarled and shoved the cube out of Prowls hand. "For Pit's sake! They were _YOUNGLINGS,_ Prowl!" The temperature in the room dropped drastically low, "I don't kill newsparks."

"Oh?" Prowl laughed, an ugly sound in the quiet room, "Do you honestly believe that? Fool. Both of our servos are _clenched, covered_ in the energon of mechs – young _and_ old. An order is an order, Jazz. The Council tells us who to eliminate, and just like those drones you ripped to pieces, we are tasked to obey."

Jazz said nothing, his frame trembling with fury, anger, regret...

Jazz stood up and went to the center of the ring.

"AI, resume training." He spat as the drones came back to life as Jazz looked at Prowl.

Prowl raised his new glass in mock salute to Jazz and his fury. The saboteur snarled and resumed his destruction on the drones, his blows getting even more brutal, if possible.

* * *

><p><em>They're bound to kill us all in whitewashed halls<br>Their jackals lick their paws _

* * *

><p>"When this is over..." Jazz vowed, at the same time crushing the drones, "When the war is over, Prowl, I'm going to kill each and every one of those council motherboard fraggin' Pit-spawns so slowly that deactivation itself would be a blessing," he growled and ripped a drone in two. "And <em>you<em> will help me," Jazz hissed, his promise made.

"No, Jazz." Prowl said, his optics empty, unseeing. "When this war is over, I will be gone." His hollow gaze fell upon Jazz, "And you, gone with me. Because when this nightmare is over, the world will have no place for monsters such as you and me." He dropped his cube, the container shattering when it hit the ground.

Prowl stood up and entered the ring, joining Jazz as he faltered and fell to the ground again.

"After all – monsters exist only in nightmares. It is only a matter of time before the world woke up." Prowl offered his hand to the downed mech and the saboteur accepted it, along with the words spoken.

"But the memory of us will live on," Jazz looked at the drones, their AI processors waiting for them make a move. If they were going to deactivate, leave this Pit of a world – then they were going down _hard_. Preferably with a lot of explosions, Jazz mused. Yes, if they were going to die, at least they'll do it in style.

"I'm counting on it." They attacked as one.

* * *

><p><em>We gotta dig in<br>Gas masks on  
>Wait in the sunshine, all bug-eyed<br>If this is living?  
>Sakes alive!<br>Well then they can't win  
>No one survives <em>

* * *

><p>The orders were given. Infiltrate a Decepticon base and then destroy it. Easy, clean. One word - simple. But they didn't expect to stumble upon...this. It was not an ordinary enemy base. It was a youngling's center – around 85% of the mechs there were still <em>younglings<em>. Younglings that were being trained to become soldiers. A military training base. Big one, at that.

Frag.

The pair set up the explosives and sent a message, signaling that the detonation was in place and they were waiting for the evacuation team, which would somehow lead the younglings away to safety. After all, they were dealing with newsparks here, and the Autobots had morals that even Prowl and Jazz respected, mostly. Well, at least that's what they though.

There was to be no evacuation team.

The orders came simple, clean – black and white, just like them. From the Council itself.

_::No survivors.::_

For a brief click, both Spec. Ops just stood there, reading the message over and over again. Prowl was the first to respond.

"It is... the logical outcome. They are sparked with hatred towards the Autobots and trained to kill us." He looked at Jazz, who was still gazing at the message, "If we don't do this now, in a couple of vorns we will suffer great losses-"

"Shut up," growled Jazz. Surprisingly, Prowl obeyed.

For a long time, they just stood there, both knowing there was no choice. Not for them. Prowl wanted to scream, to shout about this injustice, but this was war. This is war...

He looked at Jazz, noticing the visored mech's hands were trembling. It was then that Prowl felt his own wings quiver as well. Prowl swallowed. It was better... This way was better. Quick and painless death. The younglings won't suffer. Now, if he only repeated this a couple of million times in his mind, then perhaps he would believe it some orn in the future. Hopefully.

He placed his clawed servo over Jazz's that was holding the detonator. Their EM, even held so tight around them, buzzed at the contact and close proximity. Prowl knelt before Jazz, both of them going to their knees as they clutched the detonator, neither willing to activate it. A whirlwind of emotions pulsed between them. If they had been linked, the torrent would have been beyond brutal.

As one, their gazes locked and an understanding settled upon them, the EM running cold, chilling. For a single moment, the constant race between them came to an end. They found peace, calmness in the storm that always raged in their sparks and in that moment, something in the Universe snapped.

'Click'

* * *

><p><em>Ah, it's lonely at the top<br>These lonely days when will they ever stop  
>This doomsday clock ticking in my heart<br>These lonely days when will they ever stop  
>This ticking in my heart<br>Is everyone afraid? _


	3. Behind Blue Eyes

**Name of series:** This is war

**Chapter ****three****:** Behind Blue Eyes

**Rating:** PG13

**Characters:** Prowl, Jazz, Optimus Prime and others

**Summary:** Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other.

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence

**AN:** For **gracesolo**. Song request: _"Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who_.

A lot of thanks to **gracesolo** for the beta!

* * *

><p><strong>Behind Blue Eyes<strong>

* * *

><p>"We did a horrible thing, Jazz. That doesn't make us horrible mechs."<p>

"How can ya say that? Actually, how can ya _believe_ it?"

"I believe what I see. If we truly were horrible mechs, then we wouldn't be standing here, having this conversation."

"Then what are we?"

"Alive."

* * *

><p><em>No one knows what it's like<br>To be hated  
>To be fated<br>To telling only lies _

* * *

><p>After the monstrous mission involving the youngling center, the two black and whites had, for the first time, sat down and held a serious conversation. Prowl and Jazz talked for joors, civilly discussing that particular mission.<p>

For the first time, they both questioned the Autobot cause. When Prowl mentioned this, Jazz had laughed, although it sounded more like a choke. And why wouldn't he laugh? What they did was against the Autobot's core code of morals. They were supposed to be the 'protectors', the 'good ones', fighting for the right of all Cybertronians.

"Look at us, Jazz." Prowl had said. "That code has stopped having meaning to us long ago, when we agreed to become who we are now."

What was the difference between the two factions, then? What were they even fighting for? So many questions... It was then and there that the two Ops agents formed an allegiance. It was at that moment they truly became a two mech team, fighting alone against the world. They still carried the Autobot brand and fought Decepticons, but it was different. They always obeyed orders. They never questioned them. After all, they were there to serve. And yet, once you stop following orders without questioning, start to think for yourself, to actually contemplate the consequences of your actions... Well, that's when things start getting messy. For a black and white world, it sure does have a lot of gray in it.

Never again would they obey like a couple of sparkless drones.

Never. Again.

* * *

><p><em>But my dreams<br>They aren't as empty  
>As my conscience seems to be<br>I have hours, only lonely  
>My love is vengeance<br>That's never free  
>No one knows what it's like<br>To feel these feelings  
>Like I do<br>And I blame you _

* * *

><p>"Hey, did you hear? About that youngling center?"<p>

From the other side of the room Jazz calmly drank from his energon.

"No, what about it?"

Prowl didn't even move, except for the minuscule movement of his wings.

"It's gone. One click it was there and the next – poof! – only rubble in its place."

"Primus…"

The conversation attracted more mechs around the table that was subtly being watched.

"Yeah, I mean, what kind of sick bastards would _do_ that? Those were _younglings_!"

Jazz clenched his claws around the cube he was holding, as Prowl lifted his helm, gazing at the smaller black and white. His wings gave a small tremor.

"Those slaggin' 'cons…" A different mech sneered, "I hope whoever is responsible for this rots in the Pit!"

"I'm with you, mech. What kind of a monster do you have to be in order to… to… _Primus_." The mechs looked around each other, expressions grim.

"Hey, Prowl." A mech from the table called, gaining not only Prowl's attention, "How come you tacticians didn't see that coming?" Accusations clear in the tone.

"I am a tactician, not a clairvoyant." Was the cool reply.

Prowl earned himself some nasty looks from the discussion table as Jazz's optics narrowed behind his visor.

"Fragger. You know what your kind is worth? – Nothing. You spend all your time here, your aft safe, while other 'bots risk their lives. You're nothing but a coward!"

Such behavior wasn't unusual. Each department – tactical, wreckers, front liners, medics, etc – each had their own little world and are very close-knit, mostly. Unfortunately, the tactical division was one of the 'not so popular ones'. In the optics of the others, they were stuck up pricks who simply gave orders anyone can come up with and stay on the side lines where it's safe. Most of the simpleminded mechs believed that and Prowl, as well as many other tacticians, found himself the subject of such harsh remarks. When Prowl was younger, still a newbie, still not enlisted in Spec. Ops, hearing those words hurt deep. But time has shaped and matured Prowl to the mech he is now – a mech that is anything but weak.

The cube Jazz was holding shattered in his grip and only the subtle movement of Prowl's wings held him in place.

"I would suggest you think before you speak," Nothing in Prowl's demeanor changed, yet only one mech in the room could hear the threat in his voice. "You shouldn't be so disrespectful to the mech who plans your missions."

Dead silence filled the rec room as all optics focused on the two tables.

"You're no worse then those monsters that killed all of those innocent younglings, Prowl!"

Jazz clenched his fists, his visor brightening, barely restraining himself to not lash out.

Prowl was unfazed, "You speak as if you know what you're talking about, having only rumors at your disposal." Prowl finally looked directly at Jazz's rigid form, "You have no idea what you are talking about and I highly recommend you end this discussion, now."

The mechs from the table bristled at that, ready to snark at the tactician, until a voice stopped them.

"I concur," Optimus Prime's voice boomed in the quiet rec room, Ironhide standing next to him on guard, "End this now, before _I_ do. Autobots, we are better than this, unity is the key to winning this war. Not fighting among ourselves about 'what ifs'."

The Prime earned himself the undivided attention of two Spec. Ops agents, scrutinizing him from afar.

"We can only pray that those young sparks are in a better place."

The two black and whites locked gazes with each other. It should have made Prowl and Jazz feel better, and yet it didn't. It was as if someone had a firm grasp around their sparks and was crushing them with each passing click.

Unseen, Prowl motioned for Jazz to follow him out of the room, desiring to spend his evening in more pleasant company. Eyeing their Prime warily as they left, the two black and whites didn't notice that the scrutiny was mutual.

* * *

><p><em>No one bites back as hard<br>On their anger  
>None of my pain and woe<br>Can show through  
>But my dreams<br>They aren't as empty  
>As my conscience seems to be <em>

* * *

><p>Jazz stood still, gazing at the forever lasting starry Cybertronian night. It was quiet in the rec room, since almost everyone was on patrol or had shifts. For once, he enjoyed the quietness of the room, his thoughts scattered all over the place.<p>

What were they doing? What was their purpose? After the little stir in the rec room, those questions seemed to rise to the forefront in his mind. Jazz knew he easily lost himself during battle. He was sparked, after all, during the beginning of the war, and has witnessed many things a youngling should never hear of even in their worst nightmares. And the fact that he participated in many atrocities himself, didn't help at all. But he did that to survive, he _needed_ to survive. To live. And at some point that was enough. But, right now it was not. He needed a reason to live on, to fight. Otherwise, this would be just a mere existence. Jazz refused to let himself fade into obscurity, to be forgotten as one who did not matter. He still had so much life in him. Even if that life was slowly being sucked out of him, out of them all.

There is a thin line between right and wrong. But what happens when the line is crossed and they are no longer able to make a difference? What if the wrong deed is the right answer? Or the other way around. Perhaps the whole concept of 'wrong' and 'right' is comparative. There can't be right without wrong otherwise we will not be able to understand the difference. And then we return to the question, what _is_ the difference, really? Well, that depends on the situation.

Jazz tuned to look at Prowl. The door winged mech was sitting, like usual, back against the wall, helm buried in a data pad, perfectly acting out his role of boring tactician. But Jazz knew better. Prowl truly enjoyed most of the book files he read. He liked being a boring tactician. Life would be so much simpler for him, if that was all he needed to be. And in that moment, Jazz just wished he could give it to him. Give Prowl what he deserved, a life free of the horrible actions they were called upon to complete.

"Can I help you?" Prowl didn't even look up from his data pad, but his wings raised just the tiniest bit, showing that his attention had been given to the other mech.

"Nah, Prowler. Jus' thinkin' is all." Jazz gave a crocked smile, perfectly hiding his train of thoughts.

"Oh?" Prowl looked up and smirked, "I didn't know you were capable of such activities. Don't strain yourself."

"Ha ha." Jazz fake laughed and went to sit in front if him, his arms behind his head, "We'll see who's laughing after some sparring."

"We shall see." Prowl's confident smirk stretched just the tiniest bit.

"Prowler…"

"Hmm?"

"What was it like before the war?"

A lot of questions Prowl expected, this was Jazz after all, but not that one. He regarded his companion closely. Jazz had been a lot quieter and civil after what happened at that center. And Prowl, himself, had changed, became more responsible. Had they perhaps grown up, matured?

"…It depends where you are from, actually." Prowl placed the data pad down and crossed his arms, relaxing in the chair.

"I was sparked and created in Praxus. It was… a beautiful city, Jazz. I'm sure you've seen it in the archives. But it can never compare to the true thing. To hear the crystals hum, to watch them glow, to feel their warmth, their _life_… Praxus was the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Even more so than Iacon could ever hope to be." Prowl off lined his optics and rested his head back, continuing with his explanation, wistful longing for days long past in his voice. "Praxus still functions, but it's not the same. True, the crystals are still there, standing tall, and it is the place where neutrals seek peace. But, it's just not the same. You have to experience it in order to understand it, Jazz."

"All I know is war." Jazz looked at his claws absently, "Pain, destruction, and then some. Ya would be surprised what kind of fuel those dark emotions can give a mech in order to survive."

"Where is this coming from, Jazz?" Prowl on-lined his optics and leaned forward.

"Prowl, what we did… it's true that we've done some slagged up things before, but this… the fact that we obeyed it like that..." Jazz locked gazes with him, his features hardening, "That should never happen again. _I_ will not let it happen."

"What is your solution, then?" Prowl leaned in even closer, curious as to Jazz's thought process.

"We form a team. The only reason we are still with the Autobots is that they give us provisions. But other than that, we are on our own."

"You do realize, that if someone hears you speak like this, you not only will get court martialed, but deactivated for treason, as well."

"I would rather perish then be used like a drone." Jazz hissed.

"Then a team we become." Prowl stated. He had also been thinking about doing something similar to this. But Prowl never thought it would happen so fast and so soon. And with Jazz as the initiator, as well. They had worked together for many vorns. The spark-deep trust after working so close to one another all this time was undeniable, even with their violent dislike of each other in the past.

"How can ya be so fraggin' calm?" Jazz's optics slightly narrowed behind his visor.

"Now is not neither the time nor place for me to let my emotions run free. Because, trust me Jazz, if I did that, casualties will result."

Jazz stared at the older mech, saying nothing. Prowl reached forward and with his clawed finger placed a barely visible scratch over Jazz's Autobot insignia. The Autobots were corrupted. Therefore, their symbol should be as well.

"There is no turning back. You know this." Jazz stated as he, too, placed a long line over the brand on Prowl's armor. It looked like a simple scratch. But only they knew it meant something more.

"I know." Prowl stated calmly. The rest of the orn was spent, for the first time in comfortable silence, each mech pondering the unsure future. And yet, for the first time they didn't feel as lonely in this big and empty world.

* * *

><p><em>When my fist clenches, crack it open<br>Before I use it and lose my cool  
>When I smile, tell me some bad news<br>Before I laugh and act like a fool  
>If I swallow anything evil<br>Put your finger down my throat  
>If I shiver, please give me a blanket<br>Keep me warm, let me wear your coat _

* * *

><p>A roar filled the office room as fists slammed themselves on a desk, denting it.<p>

"You had no right to give that order behind my back!" Optimus Prime sneered as he glared at the terminal. Even his battle mask wasn't able to hide his boiling anger.

_::Optimus, please. Even if we wasted the time of informing you, the outcome would have been the same.:: _A member of the Council spoke, ignoring Prime's obvious anger.

"That is not the point! They are _my_ soldiers, we are _Autobots_-"

_::And _this_ is War.::_

The Prime shook with fury. The mechs on the terminal screen gazed head on, unfazed by the anger in their Prime, confident in their control of the situation.

_::They may be your soldiers, Optimus,:: _A different Council member spoke up_, ::But they answer to us. They follow our orders.::_

Prime glared at the Council members before him. Optimus knew their kind – he had read many archives, studied Cybertron's vast histories while he was still Orion Pax. He knew, for a fact, that history is repeating it self. With each passing orn Optimus sees how the First Great War will happen yet again, and all because of the corruption of mechs in positions of power, like them. How can any kind of system, a government at that, function properly when its main command, those at the top are not equitable to the full extent of the law?

Greedy bastards, Prime thought. It's because of mechs like them that mechs like Prowl and Jazz suffered in this war.

_::Look at it as this way.::_ The first Council member started, _::If the truth should ever come out, only they would take the blame for it. This mission is not reported, it's not official.::_

"Like us, there's more to them than meets the optics."

The leader of the Autobots, if he could even call himself that, could not believe his audios. Optimus always knew that being Spec. Ops meant dealing with the darkest aspects of war. But this is just plain _wrong_.

_::It is a necessary sacrifice.::_

"You disregard life so easily. We are speaking of living, sentient beings. Not some mindless drones." Optimus didn't know if he was speaking about Prowl and Jazz or the destroyed youngling center. **"**Sometimes even the wisest of us can be in error." He had experienced this first hand.

_::You do not win a war by playing nice, Optimus.::_

"Then how are we any different than the Decepticons?" At that moment, Prime realized it takes two to create a war and a single spark to ignite it. And right now, Optimus was watching the flames of war, filled with greed and devilry, spread all around him.

Prowl and Jazz, along with every other Spec. Ops agent, took their orders directly from the Council. This is what disturbed Prime the most. They were _his_ soldiers, not some greedy bureaucrat's pawns.

Perhaps this was their error. This is a military division. The Council should not have any kind of authority regarding it. And yet, it did.

_::The result is what matters.::_

Prime narrowed his optics.

_::The war will be won by us.::_

His fists clenched tight, denting the metal.

_::Righteousness will prevail.::_

Jaw was clicked tight, trying hard not to speak out loud.

_::The monstrous Decepticons shall fall, one way or another.::_

_::We will speak again, Optimus.::_

_::Till all are one.::_

Prime watched as the screen flickered off but that did not calm him down. He was practically seething as his energon boiled in his lines, knowing in his very spark there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

"Monsters…" Optimus muttered. Even monsters once were innocent, before that innocence was taken away from them.

Because only monsters can create other monsters.

He pulled out a data pad. No, Optimus thought, he will not let this continue. The Decepticons had lost their way, and so have the Council. But there is still a chance for the Autobots to change the seemingly inevitable outcome. The bright future they all were striving for didn't have to be achieved this way. Not if Optimus could help it.

He started typing on the data pad. If the Council wished to wage war, then Optimus Prime shall give them such a war that they would never forget.

* * *

><p><em>No one knows what it's like<br>To be the bad man  
>To be the sad man<br>Behind blue eyes _


	4. The song with no name Part A

**Name of series:** This is war

**Chapter four:** Part A. _The song with no name. The beginnig of the end._

**Rating:** PG13

**Characters:** Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, Ratchet

**Summary:** Prowl and Jazz are the best Special Operations team Cybertron has ever seen. Only one problem – they can't stand each other. Can the war unite them?

**Warnings:** Swearing, violence

**Disclaimer:** TF doesn't belong to me and I don't use this for profit. Only the game of _Treck_ belongs to me.

AN: The song is "Again" by Yui_. _Thank you gracesolo for the beta and silberstreif for the help!

_Vorn__- Cybertronian year, __deca cycle__ – month, __meta cycle__ – week, __orn__ – day, __breem__ –minute, __click__ – second. In all of my stories I use this format._

* * *

><p><em>I will pursue this dream, 'cause I know it's expected<br>that I be serene  
>Upon this winding road, in the face of the crowds that bustle all around<br>Although it seems like I am chasing after the past, what I want is place where the sky is alive and like home to me  
>Please to try to understand the truth<br>That this is no choice  
>And I wish you'd stop with that look<br>Of despair  
>You're giving me<em>

* * *

><p>"I always knew…" Jazz murmured, voice barely above a whisper as his visor drained of color, "Always knew you'd be th'death of me…" A smile formed on his face even as energon dripped from his lips.<p>

Prowl stared in horror at the energon sword clutched in his own servos, Jazz's energon staining them both. As if Jazz's voice snapped him back to reality, Prowl quickly let go of the weapon and distanced himself from Jazz, the sword point emerging from Jazz's back plates trembled as Jazz crumpled to the ground, slipping from Prowl's numb grip as energon pooled under him.

"…A-always knew…"

* * *

><p><em>Tears are nothing but the shape of our weakness<br>And they won't bring any absolution  
>I do not see an end to this labyrinth<br>Who am I waiting for-  
>And<br>I write it down in the pages of my notebook  
>'Cause I'm looking for the me that is still honest<br>I am running but I don't even know why  
>From this reality<em>

* * *

><p><strong>=Several Meta cycles earlier=<strong>

Ironhide subtly observed the recreation room as he drank from his energon. It was slow in here, not many mechs scattered around the room. It was the only time of the Orn that _they_ were there. Ironhide lifted his cube to take a sip as he focused his attention on the two figures.

Prowl and Jazz were lounging on a table, a game of _Treck_ spread before them. The room was quiet and the Autobots SIC didn't need to strain his audios to hear what they were saying, it was plenty loud enough for any who were in the rec room to hear. It was both amusing and intriguing how they communicated with each other. They would snark, curse, argue and even fight with each other and yet, it did not posses the menace it did almost 50 vorns ago when they met. It had become just another form of routine for them. One that was slowly ebbing away as time passed.

"Slag, slag, slag!" Ironhide had to smirk at Jazz's comical face, glaring daggers at the 3D game board in front of him as Prowl ate three quarters of his defenses.

Prowl sighed, "Jazz, you play this game the same way as you fight – barbarically reckless. It doesn't work that way."

"Mute it, it's worked so far, hasn't it?" Jazz moved some of his pieces in attack formation, wanting to scatter Prowl's forces.

The tactician however, gave him an unamused look, "Try counting the times you visited the med bay, you brute."

Prowl ignored the next set of curses Jazz let out as he effortlessly stopped his attack and reduced the saboteur's forces once more.

"This is a game about unity." Prowl took pity on him, not that he would ever admit that out loud, and started to explain, "Each piece has either one or more partners. Never separate them otherwise on their own, they are useless. Now, take a look at your battle field." Prowl gestured with his hand, "Do you notice haw they are scattered all over the place? Easy targets."

"Yeah, but they're all over yer field, if I maneuver them right, I would take out yer core." Jazz explained and Ironhide kept watching with growing interest. They certainly didn't act this way the last time he observed them.

Their last mission had obviously changed them, whatever it had entailed. Before, even Ironhide as a keen SIC had trouble reading the black and white pair, now anyone with working optics could see that the pair was able to work together without fighting. But the weapons specialist was so focused on the change in behavior that he didn't actually see the subcontext to the game at all.

"Even if I let you in my forces, yours are left defenseless by singles. It is very easy for me to infiltrate and destroy the core. Look at my battlefield and ignore for a moment your pieces in it. Do you notice something?"

Jazz's visor brightened as he leaned over the board, "None of them are singles."

Ironhide nearly dropped his cube as he saw the subtle smile on Prowl's face. He was brought out of his thoughts by someone comming him, slightly alarmed by the secure frequency being used.

_::Ironhide here.::_ He answered immediately recognizing the caller, _::What is it, Prahm?::_ Optimus was one of his closest friends and the only reason he trusted Prowl and Jazz on the battlefield was because Prime trusted them. But lately, their Prime was more than distracted, barricading himself in his office. Ironhide, not only as SIC, but as a friend as well, had asked multiple times what was he planning. He knew Optimus too well not to notice that the Prime was contemplating action on something serious.

_::I need you to gather the following mechs and arrange for a meeting, security level one, as soon as possible.::_ Ironhide straightened in his seat, not liking the tone in Prime's voice.

Security level one was the highest lever there is. It was mostly reserved for Spec. Ops meetings and briefings, but there were some exeptions. It was on meetings like these that the fates of wars were decided.

Absently, he heard Jazz cursing somewhere in the background, _::Something, th'matter Prahm?::_

_::I'll explain everything in time, Ironhide.::_ And he believed his Prime. If Optimus said that he'll explain later, then Ironhide will wait. So he set Prime's order in to motion.

It was a couple of orns later that Ironhide approached the black and white pair.

Like usual during the slow hour, the two of them were in the rec room. The unusual thing was that they were playing _Treck_ again.

"Again," Prowl said annoyed, "Use this," He tapped with a claw Jazz's helm, "Not this." Now he tapped his chest, right above the spark chamber.

Ironhide had to stop and simply gap at the two of them. From weird, it was getting weird_er_.Did the two of them even realize how they were acting? Ironhide shook his head. If this had happened a couple of vorns ago, Prowl would have probably lost his arm. But several vorns ago, Prowl wouldn't even attempt to play _Treck_ with Jazz.

"Fight with CPU, not spark." Jazz sighed, "I know, I know. But ya gotta admit, my emotions come in handy during sparring, right?" Jazz was smart, but he knew Prowl was smarter, but what Prowl lacked, Jazz strived in it. Prowl could never compare to Jazz's free spirit.

_::I used to play this with my little brother in the Crystal Gardens in Praxus.::_ Prowl said off handedly through the comm line frequency that the two of them shared as partners, surprising Jazz completely.

_::Ya have a brother?:: _

Prowl smirked, _::You never asked.::_ But his smile vanished, _::I have no idea if he's still alive. He just got upgraded in his younglings frame when I signed up for the Autobots.::_

Jazz nodded as he made another move that Prowl completely obliterated.

_::I'm…::_ Jazz started, not really good at giving condolences, _::Sorry.::_

_::He was young, but he was good at the game. After all, _I_ taught him.::_

Now it Jazz's turn to smirk, "Arrogant, aren't you?" He spoke out loud.

"Maybe a little."

Jazz snorted.

_::We should stop by Praxus if our next mission passes by it.:: _Prowl added offhandedly.

_::Oh, I thought it's not the same as it used to be.::_ Jazz gazed at the 3D board, contemplating his next move.

_::It's not.::_ Prowl gave a nod of approval when Jazz made the right move, _::But it's still Praxus, still home. Like I said, the Gardens may not be in perfect shape but they are still none like them in all Cybertron.::_

_::I've seen the ones in Iacon, though I don't know if they are still there.::_

Now Prowl snorted, "Please,", _::Those cheep imitations could never compare.::_ He glanced at Jazz, _::You've been to Iacon? I thought you were created at the beginning of the war?::_

_::I was,::_ Jazz glared when Prowl again ate some of his pieces, _::And that's th'main reason – not safe for a younglin' to stay in one place fer too long.::_ Jazz's face darkened.

_::Where exactly are you from Jazz?::_ Prowl asked, truly curious. Jazz's accent could have been acquired later in his upbringing, so it didn't tell much.

"To be honest, I have no fraggin' clue." Jazz muttered. _::The place I've spent my earliest vorns is Polyhex, but other then that, I could have been sparked and created anywhere.::_

_::It is…hard for me to picture you as a youngling.::_ Prowl said, changing Jazz's train of thoughts.

_::Oh, I was the spawn of Unicron, let me tell you.::_ Jazz grinned, mischievous shining in his visor.

_::Somehow, I'm not surprised.::_ Prowl deadpanned, but he knew that for a youngling to survive the streets when a war was waging on, some horrible things must have been witnessed and experienced.

Ironhide decided he had seen enough and approached the two.

_::We have company.:: _Prowl said, optics not leaving the 3D board.

_::I know.::_

"So, who's winnin'?" Just before Ironhide could place his servo on Jazz, the saboteur gripped the hand, denting it.

Prowl simply stilled, wings flaring wide, optics narrowing as his battle programming partly flared to life. Both black and whites said nothing, waiting for Ironhide to act.

Ironhide ignored the hand gripping his own, "Prime wants ta see ya." Straight to the point.

The Spec Ops agent regarded him completely. "Why not simply comm. us?" Jazz spoke, both of their EMF held painfully tight around themselves.

Ironhide simply shrugged, "Does it really matter? C'mon. Meeting starts now."

Ironhide pulled his now dented servo away and crossed his arms waiting for them to get up. He wasn't surprised they were so defensive. He _would_ be surprised if they weren't.

"What is this about?" Prowl finally asked as he saved the game and put the board away.

"To be honest, Ah have no fraggin' clue." Ironhide started to lead them out of the rec room knowing that they would not trust him with their backs. He sighed and hoped that whatever Prime has planned, it better be good.

* * *

><p><em>Back then you always could accept the things I'd done<br>And you're still the same today so I'll try not to burden you  
>But try to realize that I have closed my eyes<br>Just because the world is too harsh  
>And I'm willing to blind myself<em>

* * *

><p>The silence in the room was deafening, tension filling the air trying to suffocate the five mechs in it. No one moved as the words spoken earlier still left an uneasy feeling all around them. The darkness in the office seemed to reflect perfectly the mood that was set, as optics pierced the blackness. And like all things, the silence came to an end.<p>

"You are serious?" Jazz muttered, the sentence bordering between a question and a statement.

Prowl's voice was barely above a whisper, as his wings silently rose and his optics narrowed, "Fool."

"Perhaps," Optimus Prime started, "And yet, we need to see the bigger picture, for the good of Cybertron. This needs to succeed."

"'_If_' Prime, don't forget the big '_if_'." Ratchet did not look happy.

"Let meh get this strait." Ironhide frowned from his seat, "Ya want to… to _eliminate the Autbots High Council_? Ha! Ratch' I think ya better perform a scan. Prahm's obviously not feelin' well."

"Don't tempt me." Ratchet muttered as he glared at thier leader.

"Do not think lightly of me." Primes spoke, optics narrowing and frown growing, "I have thought this through. But I can't accomplish this alone. I need your help." He gestured to the four mechs before him, "_All_ of you." Optimus paused letting his words sink in.

Suddenly, Jazz started to laugh. "Yer crazy." His visor brightened, "Hahaha, the _Prime_ suggested just now to eliminate the Council, hahaha, mech you are crazier then I gave ya credit for."

Jazz's dark humor was showing again, even though they were in the presence of their Prime. Both Ironhide and Ratchet looked at Prowl and Jazz, wondering again how Optimus could find it so easy to trust those two. Perhaps it came with being as a Prime, perhaps not, since it took their leader so long to see the corruption in their ranks and the High Command. Whatever it was, Prime was obviously seeing, or rather _feeling_, something they weren't.

"Do you honestly think that it will be that easy?" Prowl asked, his voice slightly mocking of the Prime's naivety of how things really worked. He narrowed his optics and continued, "The council may be made up of the worst stuck up afts, but they _are_ smart. They know that any one of us Ops mechs could easily take them all out. That's why they installed 'fail-safes' in each of us." At this, Jazz growled, a low animalistic sound, but Prowl continued undisturbed, "They are not so easy to bypass, otherwise Jazz and I would have taken care of it ourselves and the Council, as well." The darkness behind those words was truly chilling and Prowl paused, letting the seriousness of his words sink in.

"These blocks are infused with our core programming and the wrong tweak can do the worst kind of damage, up to and including a complete core memory reformat." The mechs in the room cringed at that.

"And that is just _one_ obstruction in our way." Jazz glared, "Have you even contemplated the consequences such a radical move would bestow, not just on political but moral level, as well. I'm sure ya don't want th' army splittin', boss bot."

"I... never knew." Prime stared at his two soldiers. How much has been going on behind his back all this time?

"Of course you wouldn't. Jazz tried once to delete it himself, but the fool got himself admitted to the medbay in critical condition not long after." Ratchet could be heard snorting at that.

Jazz smiled sweetly at Prowl, even if the smile had something hysterical about it.

"Call me a fool, one more time," Jazz growled, ignoring the Prime's concerned glance.

"Even if we help you," Ratchet started, "Form a team if you will, how do you expect this to play out? Surely you realize that we are speaking about the Council."

"We have all the necessary tools at our disposal." Prime looked at each one them, "We have a medic – someone who we could rely on if something happens," He gestured to Ratchet, "The Autobots SIC, Ironhide, having all sorts of access in all the right places and not to mention my oldest friend - someone who I could trust my with my spark." Prime nodded at Ironhide, "And then we have Cybertron's two best Ops agents." He gazed at the two black and whites, "I think it is time you broke free from this curse they cast upon you."

Prime stood up from the table and went to its far end, looking at everyone in the room, considering his next words carefully.

"I know about your last mission." Optimus didn't notice the curious looks from both Ironhide and Ratchet, but focused on the spies in the room.

"At ease. I will not use this against you," Prime was quick to clarify, seeing how both black and whites tensed. The changes were minuscule and would have probably been missed if one didn't know where to look. But Prime did. He noticed how Prowl's wings, usually held so rigidly still, rose just a tiny bit showing his emotions, and Jazz's visor had brightened in the slightest amount.

"You…" Jazz started, visor draining of color, "You knew what they were doing and you let them go forward with that plan unchallenged!" Jazz stood up and smashed his clawed hands on the table, engine revving hard.

Prowl wasn't looking any better, "Some Prime you turned out to be. You wield the Matrix of Leadership and yet _they_ have power over you." Prowl mocked, trying to hide his anger.

"Now wait just one slaggin' click!" Ironhide frowned, canons charging, "Ah have no idea what the Council did, or what sort of influence they have over Prime, but if Optimus did nothing, then he sure as Pit probably had some darn good reason about it!"

"Oh, like what?" Jazz sneered, "Too much of a coward to actually say somethin'?"

"If he had said something, anything," Prowl continued, "The public, the army – everyone would have supported their _Prime_."

"And he would accomplish what exactly?" Ratchet added his thoughts on the subject, "If we publicly expose the Council for what they are it would undoubtfuly cause a stir in the already unstable population."

Jazz was about to say something else but Prime beat him to it, "If I did that, then the Council would have simply be replaced per law. How can we be sure that the next one would be any different?"

"Then how can you be sure that after we assassinate the current one it will not be replaced as well?" Prowl asked, his battle computer activated for the first time in maximum capacity.

"They won't." Certainty clear in Prime's words.

Ironhide nodded at that, "Ah agree, fear could be a powerful ally used th'right way."

Prime pulled out a data pad and plugged it to the table. A 3D file loaded. Nine columns formed, each containing mech info on the Council members and on the Council as a whole.

"When I started this research, I wasn't surprised about the little info we have on them." Prime started, "Location: Praxus," He pulled up Praxus map, the light reflecting on the serious expressions on every mech in the room.

"The Grand Hall is where they do their meetings. The plan is simple – infiltrate and plant a bomb in it."

"That's it?" Rathed asked surprised. He may not be battle trained and yet he knew the plan was to blatant, simple – black and white. "But what about the civilians?"

"That will be Ironhide's job. To make sure that the building will be evacuated and only the members would be in it." Ironhide nodded.

"Prowl, Jazz – you will infiltrate and plant the explosives. That is all I ask of you regarding the mission. I'm not going to risk them activating their fail safes."

"First," Prowl started, "We never said we agreed to help you. And second – again you underestimate them. If it was that easy: plant a bomb and run away, we would have already done it. The very moment we activate a weapon against them the coding activates and stops us."

"The only reason," Jazz piped in, "That we are even able to hold this conversation is because I was able to write a separate set of coding that isolates the original one. It blows that it can only do that. Whoever wrote that fraggin' fail safe," And this he grumbled out, "Is a slaggin' genius."

"Ratchet?" Prime looked at the medic.

The white and red bot was less then amused, "When have you heard of an Ops agent showing his coding to a medic? I haven't," He deadpanned, "Have you?"

"We're not suicidal." Jazz smirked.

"Fagging paranoid is what you are!" Ratchet glared at them.

"And with good reason." Prowl said and look at Prime, "Prime, sir, can we discus this in private?"

The Prime regarded the door winger and after a brief hesitation allowed that, dismissing for now Ironhide and Ratchet.

"What exactly do you know… about us?" Prowl started, right to the point, "About our missions?"

"I admit – not much. The missions regarding Special Operation were, still are, being handled by the Council. It was by brief accident that I even discovered your last mission."

Jazz and Prowl's faces darkened. "We shouldn't have obeyed it like that." Jazz said at last.

"It's not like you had a choice." Prime stopped himself, was he…defending them?

"There is always a choice, Prime." Prowl answered, admission and accusation all too clear to Optimus. Optimus briefly wondered if there were more missions of this caliber, but a part of him didn't want to know. The Prime didn't need more proof of how badly he is handling his position as a leader.

A silence formed, no one knowing what to say exactly. Jazz suddenly stood up from his seat and headed towards Prime's desk.

Jazz activated the device, "You play _Treck_, Prime?" He eyed the set that was waiting to be played.

"I do." Prime watched how Prowl went to stand next to Jazz. The visored mech picked up a piece. It was a strong one, since it only had one partner.

The game of _Treck_ was simple, yet complex in its own way. There were two players, each with their own core. The rest of the pieces were either in pairs, triples, quadruplets and such. There wasn't a single piece in the entire game. And that was the foundation of the game. The stronger the piece, the less partners it had and the other way around – the weaker the piece the more partners it held. This game is often used as a form of a military practice to develop teamwork so when on battlefield a soldier never to be alone. And the main goal is to capture and/or destroy the core of your opponent. Each core consists of nine pieces. Once it is destroyed, the game is over.

_::Are ya sure ya want to play this game, Prowler?::_ Jazz fiddled with the piece in his servos.

_::When I play, I play to win.::_

_::And if you lose?::_

Prowl looked at Jazz, _::There is nothing left for me to lose.::_

_::Then don't hold back, partner.::_ Jazz placed his piece in attack formation, Prowl smirking at his move as the door winger lifted the partner of the played piece and placed it right next to it.

Optimus watched how the two black and whites conversed with each other. It was a difficult task for them – trusting someone else rather then just themselves. They would give him their answer, he just hoped that it was the right one. Because he wasn't feeling like the righteous leader he believed he was. Prime sent a prayer to Primus, asking for guidance.

_::I didn't plan to.::_

The game flared to life as the pieces were activated. This was just the beginning.

* * *

><p><em>To chase my wishes I'll carry on living<br>And I will always remember the depths of the darkness  
>I'll face my demons and I'll no longer run away<br>There isn't a place to go  
>I'll lose this feeling of being so helpless<br>'Cause my whole life is ahead of me  
>I'll quash the numbness<br>'Cause pain's better than the emptiness_

* * *

><p><strong>TBC…<strong>


End file.
